


It's (Not) a Date

by ABrighterDarkness



Series: OYL Bingo [11]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anti-Valentine's Sam Wilson, Awkward Steve Rogers, Cooking, Couch Cuddles, Cuddling & Snuggling, Getting Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, Valentine's Day, accidental dates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:08:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22761460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ABrighterDarkness/pseuds/ABrighterDarkness
Summary: “You said they turned it into more stress and less fun,” Steve hedged.  “Maybe we go have fun and ignore the stress?”Sam stared at him in silence for a moment and then a small smile crept over his expression, “Sure, Steve.  Let’s take back Valentine’s then.”
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson
Series: OYL Bingo [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1567447
Comments: 10
Kudos: 73
Collections: On Your Left - SamSteve Bingo





	It's (Not) a Date

**Author's Note:**

> On Your Left Bingo - Valentine's Day
> 
> I'm a few days late (I meant to finish it up before Friday but that didn't happen) but here it is!

”I cannot  _ wait  _ for this week to be over, ” Sam groaned irritably as he dropped gracelessly onto the opposite end of the couch, feet kicking up onto the coffee table barely an inch from Steve’s. 

Steve eyed him curiously over his sketch pad, his hand continuing to scratch across the page even as he diverted his attention. ”Why’s that?” he asked with a small smirk of amusement at the slight overdramatics.

“Man, there are three hundred and sixty-four other days in the year,” Sam grumbled. “Yet somehow this one day is supposed to be the ‘holiday of  _ love’ _ . “

Steve hesitated. His eyes dropped to the image slowly taking shape on the heavy paper in his lap and bit back the urge to grimace. He slowly closed the book with his pencil caught against the binding and laid it on the coffee table by where his feet were propped. ”Not a fan of Valentine's Day, I take it?”

”Come on, tell me you don't see a problem with all the hearts and pink and red all over the damned place,” Sam frowned. “It’s turned romance into some cliche, cheesy, day of high expectations and price tags.”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed quietly. “I can see what you mean.”

“What was it like when you were growing up?” Sam asked.

Steve shrugged half-heartedly. “We didn’t really celebrate it, I guess. But I mean, even if me back then was here in this century, I don’t think I’d have had much cause to celebrate it.”

Sam hummed thoughtfully, tipping his head against the back of the couch. “I did, when I was younger. It was a big thing in schools. Kinda lost its appeal though. More stress and less fun.”

“I don’t recall much fun happening in February since the ice so I’ll just have to take your word for it,” Steve smirked. He shifted in his seat and eyed Sam cautiously. “We could...we could do that though.”

“Do what?” Sam asked rolling his head against the couch to see Steve better, frowning slightly in confusion.

“You said they turned it into more stress and less fun,” Steve hedged. “Maybe we go have fun and ignore the stress?”

Sam stared at him in silence for a moment and then a small smile crept over his expression, “Sure, Steve. Let’s take back Valentine’s then.”

February 14th reached them more quickly than Steve had anticipated and he was nervous. He knew he shouldn’t be. He and Sam had gotten meals together plenty of times. They’d watched movies on the couch together. They had gone through the vast majority of Steve’s list sitting side-by-side on either Sam’s or Steve’s couch. Sometimes over pizza and beer, sometimes over meals that they had cooked together. Lately it seemed like they spent more of their time together than not. And Steve...Steve  _ loved _ that. 

Sam had made it perfectly clear what he thought about Valentine’s Day. And Steve was aware enough to know that just because they made plans together on that particular day didn’t automatically make it a  _ date. _ He tried very hard to remind himself of that repetitively while waiting for Sam to show. It was just another night out with his best friend in this new century. Just another night spent laughing, joking, and talking.  _ It wasn’t a date _ . 

It didn’t stop Steve’s mind from wandering down the lines of ‘what ifs’. Or from acknowledging that he  _ wanted _ it to count. He wanted it to be a date. 

But it wasn’t.

And that was fine. 

More than fine, even. Because Sam was his best friend and Sam didn’t like Valentines. He wouldn’t appreciate Steve turning it into something that it wasn’t.

He startled slightly when the weight on the couch shifted him on the cushion. He glanced to his right to find Sam watching him curiously. He automatically smiled the bright smile of warm surprise at his appearance, he couldn’t help it, he was always so happy to see him. Steve did his best to bring his expression back down into something less intense, less revealing.

“You good?” Sam asked, brows arched in question.

“Yeah, sorry,” Steve answered sheepishly. “Was lost in thought, didn’t hear you come in.” Because Sam never knocked anymore, something Steve actively encouraged. Sam was always welcome in his home, whether he was there or not so what was the point in making him wait to be let in? 

Steve still always knocked on Sam’s door. 

Sam never told him to do otherwise.

Maybe that said a lot more than Steve wanted to acknowledge about where they respectively stood.

Right, Rogers, none of that now. 

Sam seemed to study him for a moment and then nodded in acceptance, “So what’s the plan?”

Steve shrugged as though he hadn’t spent hours upon hours considering just that. “The goal is to have fun, right?”

“Right,” Sam agreed. 

“Well, I mean, we could stay in, if you wanted,” Steve said nervously. “We usually have fun. Play video games or watch something. Cook. Take out is probably a long wait, I think.” He paused for a moment, “Or…”

“Or…?” Sam prompted, his eyes narrowing.

Steve swallowed thickly and eyed Sam before continuing, “Or, we could jump in and go somewhere ridiculously cheesy, cliche’d Valentines and just have fun without--without the romance.” He shifted, keenly aware of his shoulder brushing against Sam’s and shrugged again. “Or something completely different. I’m sure we could find an arcade somewhere?”

“I don’t think it matters, really. I always have fun with you,” Steve finished, wincing slightly at the obviousness of the statement but unable to take it back. 

Sam was quiet for a moment and Steve felt his nerves rising alongside the heat in his face. He wished he didn’t feel this way. That he could accept Sam’s friendship for what it was and revel fully in it rather than his heart and his mind taking off without his permission and twisting the friendship into something else. There was no reason why he should be so nervous about making plans with his best friend just because it was Valentine’s Day. 

_ It wasn’t a date _ .

“I’m guessing you went ahead planned for either one of those plans?” Sam asked with a knowing smile. 

Steve felt himself flush deeper and ducked his head, “Ah, uh, yeah. I might’ve gotten food in case we stayed in and--and...yeah, I did.”

Sam grinned and tipped sideways until he leaned fully against Steve’s shoulder, “Well then, what’s on the menu tonight, Rogers?”

Steve couldn’t help the grin that worked its way onto his face. He truly and honestly  _ loved _ the nights they cooked and ate together. More than take out and games. More than going out and seeing different places and things. Those were all wonderful in their own rights but the nights they cooked together had long been Steve’s favorite. There was always a little something extra special about working together to prepare a meal and then enjoying it together after. Or even laughing and poking fun at each other when it didn’t turn out like it was supposed to.

“I-uh-I thought we could make that one pasta dish. The one where the meat and cheese is in the pasta?” Steve paused for a moment with a frown and then grinned sheepishly. “Ravioli. I got the stuff to make it all from scratch like we did that last time.”

“Man, if I didn’t know any better I’d think you’re tryin’ to butter me up. Or work your way into my good graces,” Sam grinned. There was something odd in his expression that Steve couldn’t quite discern but he was fairly sure that it was positive, at least. 

“Maybe both?” Steve smirked.

“Well you’re on the right track there,” Sam responded, grin in place but softened slightly, a fondness that made Steve want to squirm. “You got the good cheese right? Not the cheap stuff?”

“Yes, Sam,” Steve rolled his eyes in exasperated amusement. “I remembered to get the good cheese.” He pulled himself off of the couch, tugging Sam along with him--carefully  _ not _ by the hand--to the kitchen where Sam immediately dove into putting together the fillings leaving Steve to make the pasta. 

Just like they always did on nights like these, when they’ve had the time and energy to cook together rather than just calling in and placing an order, they work seamlessly together. Dividing the tasks between them and working towards the same end goal, usually without even having to discuss who’s doing what or what the next step ought to be. There’s always been the small touches, a hand on the small of his back as Sam shifts around him or vice versa, the playful shoves and nudges--because the conversation and joking and teasing are as much a part of cooking together as the actual cooking is--that always seem to get Steve’s heart racing, no matter how many times they’ve done it. 

_ It’s not a date _ .

There’s always a spoon or fork offered up by one or the other to taste test whatever they’re making. Neither hesitates to accept what’s offered or give their opinions on it. The only hesitation that Steve usually felt was where he was allowed to let his eyes linger when Sam’s lips closed around the utensil held in Steve’s hand and the low hum of appreciation shot like lightning bolts through him. Thankfully, with Sam being in charge of the filling and the sauce, that wasn’t something Steve had to consider quite as much this time. 

Instead, it was Sam offering the tastes of meat and cheese and the curious way his dark eyes seemed to watch with rabid intensity when Steve accepted the small bite. Sam was an amazing cook though and Steve couldn’t help the way he automatically licked his lips to catch anything that might have remained of the small taste he’d gotten. Surely he was projecting, imagining the way Sam’s eyes seemed to follow the motion. He had to have been imagining it considering that Sam immediately ducked back to the stove after tossing the spoon into the sink. 

_ It’s not a date, Rogers. Keep it together. _

Sam reached for one of the wine bottles that Steve had picked up along with the rest of the ingredients they’d needed for the meal. Steve automatically pulled down two glasses and nudged them across the counter for him. 

They worked side by side as they filled the little squares with the meat and cheese confection that Sam made. They worked in silence but a comfortable one. Steve enjoyed their quiet moments as much as he did anything else. There weren’t many people left in the world that Steve felt comfortable just  _ being. _ Sam had been that for as long as Steve had known him. It was one of the many, many things that Steve loved about the man.

When the shells were filled, Steve let Sam take over the final steps and set out the plates and utensils that they would need on the small table and refilled their wine glasses, stealing a small touch at Sam’s waist when he needed to reach around him to refill his glass. His hand tightened slightly when he felt Sam lean just slightly into the touch. If it were a perfect world, Steve might’ve followed it up with an affectionate kiss to his shoulder, maybe to his temple or his cheek. He had to remind himself that it might be a  _ good _ world in which he was able to find comfort in Sam’s space but it wasn’t a perfect world. As it was, he dropped his hand and stepped back, setting the almost empty bottle back onto the counter. 

While Sam finished the pasta, Steve set to throwing together a simple salad for them to share. When that was done and put on the center of the table, Steve nudged Sam gently to the side and pushed the baking sheet with prepared garlic bread into the hot oven. He stood back upright and pushed the oven door closed. Sam stepped back into his space and Steve squeezed his hip gently and winced inwardly at the stolen affection. But Sam just shot him a grin in response. Before he could do anything worse, Steve forced his hand back to his side and stepped away, but there really wasn’t anything else that needed his attention to complete the meal.

Instead, Steve filled the sink with hot water and soap and started clean up. The worst of it would have to wait until after they had finished eating but he could at least take care of all of the dishes they used to prepare. At least it gave him something to do other than hovering in Sam’s space like the lovestruck idiot he was. 

Soon, but not soon enough for Steve’s sanity, everything had come together and they settled into their seats at the table. “We did good,” Sam grinned with a groan after his first bite of finished ravioli. Steve smiled and nodded around his own mouthful. “We should do this more.”

“Do what?” Steve asked after finishing his bite.

“Cook like this,” Sam said with a shrug. “I mean, I get that we’ve done it before but it’s...it’s fun, you know? We make a good team.”

“Yeah,” Steve nodded hesitantly. It was almost painfully uncomfortable hearing his own thoughts echoed back to him without the feeling attached. “Yeah, we do.” 

“So, make it a regular thing?” Sam asked, poking at his food with the prongs of his fork.

Steve couldn’t help the affectionate smile as he nodded in agreement. “Yeah, Sam. Whenever you want.”

“Maybe we could try different types of cuisine?” Sam suggested. “I know Nat got you hooked on masala. We could try our hands with that sort of stuff too.”

“Sure,” Steve agreed easily. “Whatever you want to make just send me the recipes you wanna try and I’ll get the stuff.”

“Might have to ask my mom if she’s got some of my grandma’s recipes,” Sam grinned. “See if we can’t do them justice.”

“I think I remember some of Ma’s old world recipes,” Steve offered thoughtfully. “Stuff she brought over when she immigrated from Ireland but we could rarely afford to actually make.”

Sam eyed him speculatively for a moment and the smile he wore was softer, like he was flattered and pleased. Steve wasn’t sure he understood why but he liked that he was somehow responsible for that smile. “Family recipes then?” Sam said, finally. 

“I’ll see what I can write out from memory,” Steve nodded. 

Sam didn’t respond right away and Steve couldn’t really gauge his expression with the way he stared down at his plate between bites. “You sure?” Sam asked, looking up suddenly. “I mean, we don’t have to dig into your mom’s recipes.” 

“Why wouldn’t we?” Steve asked, frowning in confusion. Why would that be a problem? “Unless you’d rather not?”

“No,” Sam said quickly and then winced. “No, it’s not that.” He set his fork down on his plate and leaned back against his chair, fingers tapping against the tabletop. “It’s just...you don’t really talk much about it. Your life from before. And I get it,” he rushed to reassure him. “I get why you wouldn’t. It’s yours and I don’t imagine you got much left that’s just yours. I mean, I’m down for digging into old family recipes with you. You gotta know that. Just don’t want you to think you gotta go offering them up just because I mentioned my family’s stuff.”

“I don’t feel obligated, if that’s what you mean,” Steve said with a smile and a slight shrug. Sam wasn’t necessarily wrong with what he was saying. Steve did cling tightly to his memories of before. But he didn’t keep them to himself just to keep them. He just never thought that it was something anyone particularly cared to know. They meant something--everything--to him, sure. But he wasn’t so self-absorbed to believe that they would mean or matter anything to anyone else. 

He eyed Sam across the table for a moment. “I’d like to make them with you. Together, I mean. I-I mean, if that’s what you want to do. I don’t mind sharing them. It’ll be nice to have someone else know them too.”  _ Especially if the someone else is you _ , he didn’t say. Sam’s expression shifted back to that look of flattered surprise and Steve wasn’t sure what to make of it. Was that something he was allowed to ask? Or would that overstep too far in this balancing act Steve had been attempting to keep for months now? 

“You...like that I want to make Ma’s recipes…?” Steve asked tentatively.

“Steve, man, you’re offering to let me in on a piece of your past that you never even talk about,” Sam said pointedly with an odd smile. “Of course I like that you wanna let me be a part of that.”

“Oh,” Steve said, blinking rapidly in surprise as the words settled with him. He dropped his eyes to his empty plate--when had he finished his food?--and cleared his throat. Steve looked back up at Sam who was toying absently with his fork and staring distantly at the tabletop. “I’d tell you, you know, if-if you wanted.”

Sam’s eyes snapped from the table top to meet his and he frowned slightly in confusion, “Tell me what?”

“About, you know, growing up. Before the ice,” Steve answered, shrugging awkwardly. “The stuff that history books couldn’t’ve known. It’s not...It’s not a big secret or anything. Just didn’t really think it’d be anything anyone would really wanna hear.”

“How about the nights we work through your Ma’s recipes, you tell me then,” Sam suggested. “I wanna hear, don’t get me wrong. Whatever you want to tell me and whenever you wanna tell. Just thought we could make nights of it.”

Steve huffed a quiet laugh, his heart clenching affectionately at the offer. “Yeah, we can do that.”

“Come on,” Sam said, rising from his seat. “Let’s get this cleaned up a bit and we’ll find something to watch?”

“Sounds good,” Steve agreed.

The ease in which they moved with and around one another while cooking transferred seamlessly with the clean up. Packaging up leftovers, washing and rinsing and drying the dishes. It was easy to fall into step beside Sam. Easy to fall into a comfortable silence. It was  _ hard  _ though to pretend that the previous conversation hadn’t somehow added some sort of tension. He wasn’t sure why or how. There was no reason he could think of that talking about his ma should have changed anything. But he couldn’t really explain Sam’s reaction to it either. 

Had he messed up despite all of his attempts not to? 

Steve forced down his questions, insistent on ignoring them lest he manage to make things even worse than he already had. He felt skittish. On edge in a way he hadn’t just an hour before. He felt like everything he had tried to suppress and keep shoved down had suddenly become etched onto his skin, visible to anyone who wanted to look. That feeling only grew each time he caught Sam’s eyes lingering on his face, his lips poised as though wanting to say something. But he didn’t say anything, just turned his attention back to the task at hand.

Steve wasn’t sure he wanted to know what Sam was holding back from saying. At least if it was left unsaid, Steve could pretend.

Steve set his attention to wiping down the stove and the counters while Sam finished putting away the clean dishes. He rinsed and dropped the rag over the faucet, turning to see Sam fighting with a fresh bottle of wine. Steve huffed a soft laugh and plucked the bottle from his hands. He gave the bottle opener a gentle tug and the cork popped free and he handed the bottle back to Sam.

“Thanks,” Sam muttered absently as he refilled both of their glasses. 

“You stayin’ here for the night?” Steve asked cautiously as he eyed the glasses. If he had kept count correctly, it would be their third of the night.

Sam glanced up at him for a moment and then shrugged hesitantly, “If you don’t mind? I can call a cab or something if you’d rather.”

“You don’t need to do that,” Steve shook his head, trying not to sound too eager with the idea of having more time together. “You got enough stuff left here if you want to stay. Think you left sleep stuff the last time you stayed. You know I don’t mind.”

Sam grinned and handed Steve his glass, taking a small drink of his own and setting it back onto the counter. “Speaking of, I think I might get changed before we settle in for the movie?”

“Go for it,” Steve smiled, snagging Sam’s glass and taking it and the bottle with him into the living room as Sam took off down the hall. Steve picked up his sketchbook and hesitated. It  _ wasn’t a date _ . But he’d finished the drawing. It was for Sam. But Sam didn’t like Valentines. Should he wait to give it to him, then? Steve frowned and took a deep breath before pulling the page out of the sketchbook and setting it on the table next to Sam’s glass. 

Before he could second guess his decision, Steve darted to his own room to change out of his day clothes and into comfortable jogging pants and t-shirt. He dropped his clothes into the hamper and made his way back out to the living room. Sam was already there, seated in his usual spot on the middle cushion--he only sat at the far end when he was disgruntled about something, Steve liked that he knew that about Sam--with Steve’s drawing in hand. 

Steve lowered himself into his own spot beside Sam, watching cautiously as dark eyes scanned over the paper, taking in the details. It was Sam and the wings, flying over the city. There were roughly a half-dozen drafts of it still in the sketchbook that Steve had discarded when they didn’t live up to his expectations. The one Sam was holding was the only one of them that he felt did justice to the way Sam looked when he was in the air. Strong, fierce, and beautiful. 

He was gearing up to apologize, though for what exactly he wasn’t entirely sure, when Sam looked over at him with a warm grin. “Didn’t know I’d earned the Steve Rogers drawing award,” he teased and Steve felt his face warm while simultaneously feeling guilty that he’d felt so nervous about giving Sam a drawing that he’d inadvertently given that impression.

“There are...others,” Steve admitted sheepishly. “Just didn’t feel right to give you something that didn’t...that wasn’t good enough.”

“Pretty sure even your lazy attempts would be more than good enough,” Sam disagreed. “But thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Steve replied quietly. He cleared his throat awkwardly, “Any ideas what we should watch?”

Sam leaned forward to grab the remote and scanned through their options, settling back against the couch and automatically sinking into Steve’s side under the arm that Steve had draped over the back of the couch. 

It was things like that, Steve thought, that made him sometimes wonder if he really was alone in the way he felt. Things Sam did seemingly without thought whenever they had comfortable evenings like this. Cuddling into his side or stretching out onto the couch and resting his feet in Steve’s lap and the quiet sounds he made with Steve pressed his thumbs into the arches. The mild rough housing they would do when jokingly disagreeing about what to watch next or whatever they decided to disagree on just for the sake of being difficult. The casual touches while they cooked. 

The movie started but Steve hadn’t been able to pay attention to what Sam had chosen, too distracted by the warm weight against his side. He hesitated a moment. Swallowing nervously, Steve let his arm shift off of the back of the couch to curve over Sam’s shoulders, his hand curling comfortably against his side. Sam looked up at him with a look of mild surprise and Steve almost withdrew. But Sam just shuffled a little closer and leaned into him a little more heavily, his own arm hesitantly lifting to rest along Steve’s thigh and hand resting over his knee. 

That was...that was new. It wasn’t a date. But it was something, right? Cuddling on the couch watching a movie--that Steve still couldn’t seem to concentrate enough to know what they were watching--was  _ something,  _ wasn’t it?

And then Sam shifted against him. And then he did it again. Steve frowned in concern, ready to pull his arm away if that happened to be the problem. “Sam?”

“Yeah, sorry,” Sam sighed, only to shift again just moments later. He sighed again and tapped his fingers consideringly against Steve’s knee. Before Steve can question the obvious agitation, Sam pulled away from Steve’s side and turned bodily until he’s facing him, Sam’s knee digging slightly into Steve’s hip. Steve moved his arm back up onto the back of the couch, fingers digging anxiously into the cushion. Sam seemed to study his face intently for a brief moment, licking his lips nervously and opening his mouth to speak. 

“Look, Steve, I--” Sam paused for a beat and frowned in apparent frustration. Steve’s eyes widened in surprise and his heart raced when Sam shifted again, this time moving onto his knees and leaning forward with determination until their lips pressed firmly together. His hands moved automatically to Sam’s hips to steady him and his grip tightened at the feel of Sam’s hands, one braced against his shoulder at the other against his jaw and sliding back into his hair. 

The kiss was tentative, unsure to start but something about Steve’s firm grip seemed to encourage Sam. Steve let his lips part under the cautious press of tongue and met it with his own, carefully tasting and exploring. The kiss never broke but Sam was shifting again, closer though, one knee coming down onto the couch on the opposite side of Steve’s hip from the other. It takes a moment for Steve to register the change. His mind didn’t fully comprehend that he had Sam straddling him until he’s got a lap full of the man. 

Steve gave his hands permission to move then, sliding under the thin t-shirt and firmly up over Sam’s back, touching and feeling the firm, dense muscles under his fingers and reveling in the simple fact that he was allowed to touch the way he was. Sam’s hips rolled against his, the hard line of obvious arousal pressing firmly against Steve’s and lips muffled the echoed low groans. Steve’s hands dropped back to his hips, holding firmly but unsure if he was stilling the movement or encouraging it to continue. 

“Sam,” Steve breathed through a groan when they broke for air. His thumbs drag slow sweeps over Sam’s hips and his fingers dig in just slightly when Sam rocked forward again. This time Steve was sure, his grip firming and stilling the movement as he stares up at the man hovering over him. “Sam, sweetheart, what--?”

Sam silenced his questions with another kiss, slower, more thorough and Steve let his head sink back into the cushion giving into Sam’s insistence. Even if it was just this, just this and nothing more, Steve can’t help but think he could accept that. Take just what’s being offered without requiring it to be something more. He wants more, there’s no doubting that. He wants everything. But if everything wasn’t on offer then he could content himself with the moment.

But if a moment was all he was going to get then Steve was determined to make it worth it for both of them. He could vaguely hear the movie continuing on without them in the background but paid it no mind, hands stroking over strong thighs on either side of him, only thin sleep pants separating his hands from warm skin. He sunk into the feel of Sam’s hands over his chest and shoulders, his lips and nipping teeth and tongue against Steve’s own. 

“Sam,” Steve murmured against his lips, catching the full bottom lip between his teeth in a gentle nip. “Sam, we should--,” his words were cut off with a shuddering moan when their hips pressed together again. “Oh god, Sam, sweetheart...we should--”

“Wanna stop?” Sam asked between lingering kisses, his lower body coming to a stop, resting his weight over Steve’s thighs.

“God, no,” Steve said with a breathless laugh. “Could never stop and be happy. Just don’t wanna take advantage either.”

“I’m not drunk,” Sam insisted. “Don’t think I missed you finishing off my wine thinkin’ I wouldn’t notice.”

“I know you’re not,” Steve smiled, unable to keep the affection from his tone. “Is this,” he hesitated but knew he needed to know one way or the other. “Is this just for tonight?”

Sam sat back further and Steve tried not to mourn the loss of the contact. “Is that what you want it to be?” Sam asked, voice carefully neutral, giving Steve no indication on how the question should be answered.

“No,” Steve admitted. 

“What do you want, then?” Sam asked after a short moment.

“Whatever you wanna give, Sam,” Steve said quietly.

“That’s not what I asked. What do  _ you _ want?”

Steve took a deep breath to try and expel the nervousness that shot through him. Without allowing himself a moment to hesitate, he leaned forward just enough to press a soft kiss to Sam’s lips, different from the previous ones they’d shared. Slow and tender and revealing with none of the heat and loaded expectation of more. He broke the kiss and spoke against Sam’s lips, “Everything.”

Steve could feel the lips hovering over his stretch into a slow grin and Sam pressed forward, reclaiming the kiss briefly. “Just had to go and get sweet and romantic on Valentine’s didn’t you?”

“Dunno what you’re talkin’ about,” Steve grinned. “It’s just another Tuesday.”

“It’s Thursday, Steve,” Sam laughed.

“Huh, so it is,” Steve quipped, unable to do anything but kiss him again, slow and lingering. They were both breathing heavily when he broke the kiss to speak again, “Doesn’t really matter, does it?”

“Not if you keep kissin’ me like that,” Sam agreed, his hand tightening in Steve’s hair though Steve couldn’t recall when it had moved there. 

“I can do that,” Steve laughed softly and tugged him in closer until their bodies were once again pressed together with as little space as possible between them. He ghosted a light, teasing kiss over his lips and grinned at the slightly annoyed groan it earned. “But for the record,” Steve said, nipping at Sam’s lip, “this  _ was _ a date.”

Sam froze for a moment and then laughed, nodding in agreement and stealing a kiss before answering verbally, “Yeah. Think they always were and we’re just now catchin’ on.”

Steve had to agree. That night wasn’t really all that different from their usual nights together aside from the current part. “Gotta lot of time to make up for, it sounds like,” Steve said, smirking when he tightened his hold on Sam and tipped them to the side until Sam was pressed into the couch beneath him. Steve let his lips travel, leaving heated open-mouthed kisses down Sam’s jaw and neck, suckling lightly at sensitive skin just behind his ear.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed breathlessly, his legs tightening around Steve’s waist on the tail end of a shudder the affection drew from him. 


End file.
